100TWC - Day 51: Troubling Thoughts

The BBC announcer had adopted his most serious tones:

"These scenes are being brought to you live from Birmingham, where there is now a full-scale riot in progress. In a moment we will be bringing you coverage from Manchester and an update from London, but first a report from our correspondent at the scene of the rioting, Phil Mackie."

Jessie watched the scenes unfolding in front of her. She heard what the BBC reporter was saying but she struggled to understand it. Why now? Why Birmingham? A city with a long and proud tradition of accepting people of all backgrounds. And the boys on her screen! Some of them looked barely old enough to be in long trousers. And girls too! When did girls start to become involved in such behaviour? It was alien to her.

She thanked God that her own son had more sense than to get mixed up in such things. Upstairs in his room he was probably chatting on that Spacebook, or whatever it was called, or getting blown up in the safety of a computer-rendered war zone rather than the real-life war zone flashing red and blue on her TV.

"Police say these incidents across the country are being orchestrated by a few militants who are well known to CID and Special Operations units, through their contact networks built up on social media sites like Facebook and Twitter."

Facebook! That was it. Jeremiah was on Facebook. But only with his school friends and members of the family, including some outside the UK. Thankfully he would have more sense than to get mixed up with thugs like these. A strong and upright family, even without a father's influence, Jessie had always made sure Jeremiah knew the difference between right and wrong. And when he had started down the wrong path, on entering his teen years, she had been there to steer him right. That had been a difficult time. Cold winds blowing across their table at breakfast and supper. She had got through to him in the end though. Weathered the storm and put him back on the right path. He saw the sense of her viewpoint. Came round to it even. As much as a teenager could ever be expected to do what their parents told them. He was a good boy, all things considered. Not as much trouble as some. Especially round here. Jessie had wanted to move to Solihull or Edgebaston, but they couldn't stretch to it on a single wage. But where they lived in Perry Barr wasn't THAT bad. Other people kept to themselves most of the time and there wasn't much trouble to speak of.

The TV report had moved on to Manchester now. Jessie decided she'd better check that Jeremiah had sorted out his sports kit for tomorrow. Her knees cracked as she levered herself up off the sofa. Those old bones weren't getting any younger. She gripped the banister tightly as she climbed the stairs one at a time, her arthritis flaring painfully with every jarring step. Jeremiah's bedroom door was closed. No sound came from inside but that wasn't unusual. Her constant complaining of the noises of explosions and blood-curdling screams had persuaded him eventually to buy a pair of headphones, and her continued complaining for several months after that had convinced him to start using them.

She knocked, waited, and poked her head around the door. The room was empty. The bedclothes were still as neat as when she had made his bed that morning. His computer hummed quietly in the corner, but Jeremiah's monitor was turned off. His school bag was nowhere to be seen. Jessie felt sure he had not entered the room since he left for school this morning.

He should have been home for hours. It had been dark since five thirty and he was never this late on a school night. Jessie crossed the room and turned on the computer monitor. As it warmed up, Jeremiah's Facebook page swam into view. But not his personal profile or newsfeed. A cold chill settled around Jessie's  spine as she read the title of the page he had been reading: "Spread The Hate."

A hundred conflicting thoughts sparked in her mind. Not her boy. Why? Who were these people? How had he got involved? Surely he was just late home from school. Or gone for a pizza with his football team? Why hadn't he told her he'd be late? Was he alright? Safe? He wouldn't do that. Not throw bricks or loot shops or spray graffiti. None of that.

The doorbell interrupted the insane flood of questions and worries. Jeremiah! Forgotten his keys again! Thank God. Not rioting. She'd been a fool to think that of him. Her boy would never...

Two tall dark figures stood on the front door step, their blurry outlines visible through the obscured glass. Not Jeremiah then. She hurried downstairs as fast as her arthritic joints would allow.

"Just a minute," she called.

She paused with her hand on the latch, suddenly terrified. She opened the door, just a crack. Two uniformed police officers stood outside.